


Winter Veil drabbles

by BlaBlaMan



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlaBlaMan/pseuds/BlaBlaMan
Summary: Here is my first fic I post here. This was written on the New Year's Eve.! All the actions are meant to happen somewhere after the Legion's Final but before the argument between Varok and Sylvanas. (Patch 8.0)
Relationships: Maiev Shadowsong/Illidan Stormrage, Nathanos Blightcaller/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 13
Kudos: 10





	1. The Loneliness on the Winter Veil's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic to make you want to spend winter holidays with the people you love. This fic is about my OTP and is built around my headcanon about the strong feelings between Maiev and Illidan. I'll try to describe their feelings in my future works. But now - enjoy the winter mood!

Ah, The Winter Weil! Today the wind in the mountanial regions of Storm Peaks will be insainly harsh, the icy lakes of Dun Morogh will be covered with a thick layer of snow, and even pandarens in Stormstout Brewery will be surprised when they see a rime crust on their windows before the dawn. Great-Father Winter in Orgrimmar and Ironforge has already prepared the gifts for both small orcs and dwarves. Even the fractions leaders will get their presents, each their own but together they will weave the full picture of the winter celebration when there are no battles even on the fronts and the tired heroes return back to their homes. These two weeks are very important for every Azeroth's inhabitant.

Illidan sighes and puts his chin on the clasped hands. It seems that his face isn't expressing anything. But he is feeling the naked emptiness in his heart. Not because of his another sacrifice in the name of the world - he is obligated to keep the watch over the fallen titan. No. Now he feels the real loneliness. This Winter Veil is the first for the previous more than ten thousand years he is going to spend without her. Jailer, captive or battle comrade - the status doesn't matter. He can't live without his Maiev Shadowsong. They both can't exist without each other. And he is totally sure that she thinks the same right now. He sighed again and whispered in the darkness, making sure no one can hear him now:  
\- Happy Winter Veil, my Small Warden. 

Maiev wraps up tighter in her old cloak. She gaspes as she sees the fragile steam jets from her nostrils. It's been a while when it was so cold in the Ashenwale. Or maybe she didn't notice; her heart was so filled with the rage to him. Many years their mutual imprisonment has been changing her. The Betrayer was changing in her eyes all these years. She has been feeling a lot about him: hatred, contempt, admiration and finally desperation. But now he is gone, and her life is nothing without him. Is it possible for her to return to the normal life? She was missing him so much. She giggled when she noticed how she drew his face on the desk with her sharp nail.  
\- Happy New Year, Stormrage.


	2. A lonely day of the Winter Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hurt/comfort story about Sylvanas and her emotions on this Winter Veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge pause, I was very busy this week. But now I finally ready to publish this.  
> Thanks for all replies to the first chapter <3

Three wax candles reminded her of three Windrunner sisters; in a one candelabrum but still far from each other; when your inner fire cannot warm up others' hearts. 

Lady Sylvanas was sitting on her throne and meditatively drumming her fingers on the oak table, unseeing eyes watching somewhere through the list with her scounts' reports. It seemed that everything was quiet and peaceful on Kalimdor. All the outposts on the continent were being dressed up for the holidays. But The Banshee Queen's mind was full of tormenting thoughts about the sisters' destiny. 

'How does Alleria feels after so many years in the Twisting Nether? Her mind sreams filled with the void. But Turalion does his best to help her to withstain this period of her life' Sylvanas swallowed the bitterness. She hoped it wasn't jealosy.

'Verisa, you're poor thing! You've lost everything! Your husband died, your sisters rejected you. You are apart from your children and even your race! My dear..'

Sylvanas shuddered. Hissing, she embraced her shoulders. She was terrified when she felt the goosebumps inder her fingers. She remembered the val'kyr ritual that she had been through together with Nathanos. It was difficult to get used to the newfound feeling of the hypersensivity of her skin, once light and elvish. The stone walls of Warchielfs' Hall weren't able to keep the warmth inside and now the Warchief's naked shoulders were the best target for the frost that hits these latitudes extremely rarely. She left her cloak and and shoulder pads at the doorway and no one except the leaders of the Horde who are in their cities now would dare to walk in. There is still Nathanos but she had sent him away so he wouldn't bother her. Now he was surely drowning his sorrow in one of the many inns on the Alley of Honour missing her and thinking he doesn't deserve her. But it turns that no one actually needs her. Everyone is awating of her wrong step, when she lose her grip, her vigilance. They hail Varok and Baine they want one of them to be the Warchief instead of her. There are no one on her side, no one ever asks her about her wellbeing, no one to share the warmth with..

An explosion thundered through the city. Sylvanas jumped on the throne. She heard screams and laughts. The annual firework that was personally held by Great-Father Winter had been started. The Warchief unclenched her fingers. A piece of paper that had been the scouts' report fell on the stone floor. The echo of the falling was the sound of broken glass for her ears. She quivered because of the new fireworks wave that overwhelmed Orgrimmar. A lump came up to her throat. She felt the cold; Arthas kills her and turns into Banshee; she sees his corpse, the breathtaking height of the Icecrown Citadel, her body again, Nathanos follows her after her second rebirth..

She embraced her shoulders again and bent her knees to her chest to keep the warmth of her dead heart. Suddenly something rough and heavy covered her exposed shoulders.

'No way! He's seen my weakness!' She tried to return the steel to her voice, put the mask of anger, turned around and barked:

'Blightcaller! I ordered you to leave me alone!'

She was surprised when she noticed how low and fragile her voice sounded.

But his face was still. He used her unreadiness cover her tighter in his jacket. She jumped from the throne trying to get rid of his cloth but his grip over her arms was so tight that she felt no power to resist.

After a minute of frustration he released her and stood in front of his queen. Nathanos smiled looking in her eyes and ran his thumb against her cheek to wipe off a tear, creating a track of leaked ink. Her hands fell down. Now she had no power against him.

Blightcaller gently put her hands of his jacket, enormously wide for her. He took her in his arms and carried to her quarters, silently seating her on a bed. He didn't sit next to her, to her surprise, but escaped the room immidiately; he didn't close the door.

A new boom and new waves of cheers. But now these sounds calm her down. She was warming up in his cloth. Whether because of the thickness of his jacket or because it was his, she didn't know. And didn't care.

She heard Nathanos's steps. In weak lights of dying candles she saw his silhouette walking backwards. It was a cute little Santa's Hat with a white jingle bent to a side. He was carrying something. Did he wear.. cooking gloves?

He turned around a metre before her bed. His face was shining. In his arms the Chief (what a irony) of Rangers was carrying a black dish with a dozen of cookies. The ten Christmas trees made of shortcrust pandry were arrogantly staring at Banshee Queen. 

'I made them on my own' he predicted her question. 

Nathanos knelt in front of her and exhibited the plate bowing his head before his mistress. She put her hand out of the sleeve and grabbed a cookie.

He heard a crunch. Now the Warchief of the Horde was concentrated on chewing the cookies her bodyguard had made for her. When she paused he looked up at her face. Their sights met. It wasn't usual for him to see her being so domestic and glad. No cold eyes, no hatred, no sorrow. The simple and living woman he used to know someday - Sylvanas, not the Warchied or The Banshee Queen - was looking at his eyes and smiling like a child. The smeared ink on her cheek was contrasting with little crumbs on the other one. 

Nathanos laughed. Spirits, he wanted her to be like this forever.

***

Orc with a gray beard approaches a box of goblin rockets. The audience, both children and adults are focused on him. Keeping his eyes on the crowd he reaches the long rope which connects all the wicks together. Making a wave with his hands, followed by an exclamation of the audience, he creates a sparkle. Fire, burning rope, the light is running to the box. The rockets rush to the sky, filling the air with the smell of sulfur. Orgrimmar sky becomes an ocean of shooting stars. A quiet chuckle made by Great-Father Winter drowns in a burst of the crowd cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I helped you this Monday's evening! Comment on this, describe your feelings!  
> I think the next work will be in another fandom, but if you love this fic and want a sequel , be sure I'll write it.  
> Also I am open to your suggestions  
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Also I am open to criticism. Comment about what you feel about this work.


End file.
